Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Medieval lords' mobilization of their people for war was inefficient, poorly organized, and extremely cruel to the lower classes. War was both a tool for lords to realize their political ambitions and a heavy burden and survival crisis looming over ordinary people.

The tranquility of the villages within the territory was utterly shattered. The urgent tolling of bells or the hoarse roars of sheriffs echoed over every village.

"All men aged 16 to 50! Bring three days' worth of rations and assemble in the village square! The lord is conscripting!"

The sheriff of Takhof village, leaning on his cane, looked at the group of pale-faced, terrified villagers before him, his heart filled with helplessness and sorrow. Some had just put down their hoes, while others were still repairing the leaky thatched roofs. War? Most of them had barely even seen the castle soldiers a few times.

"Old Man Hank, are we... are we really going to go and fight the Red Griffins?"

A thin young man asked tremblingly, "I heard that the red griffins only attack the lord's soldiers, and they're quite good to us farmers. Last time, they even helped Troski village drive away bandits..."

"Shut up, Kurt!" the sheriff snapped, but couldn't help glancing at the impatient castle conscription soldiers in chainmail not far away. "How dare you say such things? Do you want your whole family hanged from the trees at the village entrance?"

He lowered his voice and said bitterly, "See those 'masters'? An order is an order. If you don't want to die, remember: assemble, collect your supplies, and follow. As for the rest, once you get to the battlefield... well, that's up to God."

The conscription leader, a scarred sergeant, grumbled as he directed his men to open several tattered wooden crates unloaded from the wagons. "Hurry up! You lazy bums! Line up! The lord is merciful; he's rewarding you with weapons!"

The so-called weapons were nothing more than spears with crooked shafts and rusted iron tips, and old wooden shields with cracked surfaces and torn skins. Decent swords or armor? Those were not for the peasants.

According to the tradition of earlier years, conscripted farmers had to bring their own weapons and use their own iron pikes and pitchforks. Now that they can receive equipment from the armory, they should be secretly happy.

But the farmers who received the "equipment" awkwardly gripped the spears that were too heavy for them, didn't know how to handle the shields, and their eyes showed even greater fear.

"How can we fight with this??" someone muttered quietly.

The scarred sergeant heard this, grinned maliciously, and walked over, kicking the man to the ground: "How do you plan to fight? Use your worthless life to pay the price! Use your blood to blind the Red Griffin! Remember, those who run away, kill! Those who cower, kill! If you want your families to live, then obediently serve as meat shields! Move! Line up, follow the flag!"

Similar scenes are playing out in various villages.

In the village of Zhelyov, the sheriff tried to plead for several obviously weak villagers, but was whipped twice by the conscription team.

At the coachman's post station, two young men attempted to escape but were caught by cavalry and publicly whipped until they were on the verge of death as a warning to others.

Weeping women, bewildered children, and ashen-faced old people stood at the village entrance, watching their husbands and sons being driven like livestock into the dark and fearful flow of people heading towards Troski.

Dust billowed on the road. The conscripted peasants marched in a crooked line, silently escorted by cavalry and a few infantrymen. They carried meager amounts of black bread and beans, clutched shoddy weapons, and were filled with fear of the unknown battle and complex emotions toward the legendary red griffin—some resented him for bringing war, while others secretly hoped he was as powerful as the legends said, giving them a chance to survive.

In the square and surrounding open space of Trossky Castle, many makeshift tents have been erected, filled with the sounds of people, rising smoke, and the smell of livestock dung. The flying fish banner of the Borgo family flies high atop the castle's main tower.

Young Master Jan von Polgar, clad in a brand-new set of silver-plated plate armor and a scarlet cloak embroidered with gold trim, stood on the terrace of the castle's main tower, his hand on his sword hilt, smugly surveying the bustling scene below. He saw conscripted peasants being herded into designated areas like ants, saw scattered mercenaries and free knights arriving with their men, and saw quartermasters frantically inventorying supplies.

Power! This is the taste of power! His heart was filled with an inflated joy.

His father had given him the authorization, entrusting Trotsky's fate to his hands. Behold, so many people, so much power, all would obey his command to crush that arrogant, bastard, red-haired Peter! This would be Jan von Polgów's first battle to make a name for himself! Once he had the Red Griffin's head hanging on the castle gates, who would dare question his abilities? Even his father would look at him with new respect!

"Young Master, another forty-seven conscripts have arrived today. In addition, members of the 'Vulture' Mercenary Group, the 'Wild Wolf' Mercenary Group, and the 'Black Bear' Mercenary Group have all arrived and are requesting half of their payment in advance," a servant respectfully reported.

"Here! Tell them to fight hard, there will be rewards after the war!"

The young master waved his hand, exuding an air of grandeur. Money? The castle's treasury has plenty! That fool Therush lost a lot before, but what's left is enough to support this glorious expedition.

The attendant hesitated for a moment: "Yes... Also, Steward Ulrich asked me to remind you that food supplies are being consumed faster than expected, the newly recruited mercenaries are demanding high prices, and nearly a third of the reserve weapons and armor in the treasury have already been distributed..."

"That's enough!"

The young master interrupted impatiently, "Ulrich is always so petty! If we win, we'll have everything! Rattay, Samopes, all those wealthy places will know my name! Do as I command!"

"Yes, young master." The servant dared not say more and bowed as he withdrew.

In the steward's room next to the castle hall, Ulrich stared at the thick ledgers, his face ashen, his fingers trembling. Another batch of chainmail and helmets had been taken away! Under the pretext of "strengthening the combat capabilities of the conscripts!"

Good heavens, do those peasants deserve to wear the equipment of the castle's armory? They only deserve to use wooden sticks!

And the food supplies are terrible! Those mercenaries are like locusts! If they keep eating like this, the castle's food reserves will be depleted before the war even starts!

These... these are all the assets he has painstakingly accumulated over the years, bit by bit, for the Earl—no, for himself as well! That spendthrift young master! For that laughable vanity, he is hollowing out Trostsky's very foundation!

He had long regarded the castle's assets as an extension of his management skills, and every expenditure caused him heartache, yet he was helpless. He could only mechanically issue withdrawal orders while silently calculating how to make up for the losses after this high-stakes gamble, perhaps waiting for a tax increase after the war?

The castle guard barracks now belong to a different person. Thomas, the former captain, has almost fully healed his arm wound, but his heart is festering. He has been stripped of his captaincy and reduced to a common soldier, subjected to the pitying or mocking gazes of his colleagues. The new captain is a trusted confidant of the young master, a boastful fellow.

Thomas looked out the window at the chaotic conscripts, recalling the five riders who swept in like demons under the moonlight, the precise and ruthless arrows, the unstoppable charge… Fear gripped his heart again. Fighting such an enemy with these peasants and greedy mercenaries? Did the young master think that numbers were enough? He could almost see the carnage, the rout.

Resentment grew in his heart. Resentment towards the young master, resentment towards this meaningless war.

Outside the castle, the assembled army grew larger and larger, its noise deafening.

Inside the castle, in the shadows, scheming, fear, resentment, and greed, like mold, quietly fester on the foundations of power.

Meanwhile, Peter, far away in the mountain camp, was staring at the rough map with clear eyes, as if he had pierced through the fog and seen all the pieces on the chessboard, pondering his next move.

"Sir," a sentry came in to report, "There's a convoy outside the mountains. He says his name is Yang Jieshika. He's delivering a batch of supplies to our allies as agreed."

"Oh? He came in person?"

Peter glanced at the camp, observing the carpenters' energetic work building towers, forging shields, and making bows and arrows; the sixty-odd militiamen, led by the old monk Martin, the tomcat Carter, and the lone wolf Conrad, arrayed in formation, wielding their flails with boundless enthusiasm; and the lively scene of women and children busily preparing rations and cheering on everyone...

Such a scene could not be allowed to be seen by people outside the mountains. So he went down the mountain himself and saw three large trucks loaded to the brim on the grass outside Devil's Canyon, along with twenty strong men.

The leader was a middle-aged, burly man with brown hair, blue eyes, and a meticulously trimmed mustache. His face was weathered and weathered, suggesting a man with a story to tell. He wore a half-breastplate, a beige overcoat, and a two-handed sword at his waist, exuding an air of extraordinary martial prowess.

"You're Yann Jetska?"

Although it was a question, Peter was absolutely certain that the person before him was the future national hero who would lead a group of farmers to repel several invasions by Crusader knights and defend Bohemia. He couldn't help but stare at him for a while longer.

"Hello, Mr. Peter, this is me. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The middle-aged, burly man greeted the tall young man emerging from the canyon, escorted by numerous soldiers, and then scrutinized him closely. He had heard Peter's name from various people before, but this was the first time he had seen him in person, and he couldn't help but feel curious. That physique, that bearing, and that signature red hair—truly befitting of the valiant Red Griffin.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too. May I ask what brings you here today?"

Peter glanced at the three carriages, but pretended not to understand.

"This is supplies we are providing to support you as an ally."

Jessica ordered his men to open the carriage shed, revealing ten sets of chainmail, two carts of wheat, and some other miscellaneous items. "Our mercenary team supports you in your fight against Lord Borgo's tyranny and hopes to do our part."

Why not István?

Peter was a little curious. Logically speaking, shouldn't the venomous snake be the one running around the most frequently in this kind of situation?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Toth is ill. As the team leader, I have to come to meet you in person."

Jessica then feigned sadness, "But after he returned, he told me in detail about the situation in your camp and hoped that I would not abandon my promise to my allies. That is why I personally escorted the goods here. Of course, it is also possible to enter the camp and fight alongside you against the siege of Polgar's army. After all, I yearn for the cause of justice."

"But Mr. Toth says your mercenary group is nominally loyal to Sir Nebakov. Won't he mind?"

Peter sensed something amiss in the other person's words, so he smiled and asked.

"No. We are mercenaries, we don't belong to any one person. We have the right to choose, and I choose justice."

Jessica spoke with righteous indignation, and his serious and solemn face made him very persuasive.

Unfortunately, he ran into Peter, who knew his secrets. So Peter beckoned to him and led him to a place where no one could hear their conversation.

"I know you are a royalist sent by Sir Jan Sokol to disrupt the territory of Trossky."

Peter went straight to the point and exposed Jessica's true colors.

"How could you...?"

Jessica instinctively gripped the hilt of her sword, almost drawing it without thinking. "Don't talk nonsense and tarnish my honor."

Peter continued to play his cards openly, saying, "I am also a royalist loyalist to Vaslav IV. I deeply abhor the Hungarian invasion and equally hate the Bohemian nobles who have sided with the Hungarians. My purpose in coming to Trossky Territory is to strike down von Polgao, this lackey of the Hungarians."

This is a lie. Peter was not a royalist and had no mission, but that didn't stop him from raising the banner to promote himself.

Jessica was clearly convinced that Peter Griffin's major actions since arriving in Trossky had all been aimed at undermining von Polgao's rule, coinciding with his own objectives. However, he still cautiously probed, saying, "Waceslaus IV is lazy, incompetent, dissolute, and frivolous; he is utterly incapable of governing Bohemia. Sigismund is his younger brother; what's wrong with him inheriting the throne?"

"If Sigismund had returned to Hungary alone to inherit the throne, I would have praised him as a hero. But after he led the Hungarian army and Cuman mercenaries to conquer Prague, it was no longer an internal royal issue, but a war between nations—or more precisely, a barbaric invasion by the Hungarians!"

Peter's face showed indignation. "Opposing Sigismund is opposing aggression, and attacking Hungary's supporter, von Polgar, is attacking the aggressors. This is the just cause I'm doing. And you..."

He pointed at Jessica, "After arriving in Troski, you gathered thugs, plundered villages, and extorted civilians. Now you've joined Sir Nebakov under the guise of a mercenary group, using underhanded tricks against me. You're not worthy of being called a righteous cause."

"I'm not worthy..."

These words broke Jessica's defenses. He wanted to retort, but in the end he only muttered, "War is a dirty business, and it's ridiculous for us, who are deeply involved in it, to talk about justice."

"You're the ridiculous one, Jessica. Don't you realize you're being fooled like a clown?"

"Fooling? What do you mean?"

Peter's words were hard for Jessica to accept, and she immediately pressed him for answers.

"Literal meaning. How did you come to know István Toth? What kind of person do you think he is?"

Peter then posed another question.

"He came to me on his own initiative when I was recruiting recently. He is very intelligent and has a very powerful follower, Eric. My team needs someone like him. He said he was from the south and his family was plundered by the Kumans, forcing him to flee to the north. He is very elegant and resourceful, but also somewhat cunning."

As he reminisced, Jessica began to share his thoughts on István.

"He is Count von Polgár's spy."

Peter wasn't afraid of changing the original plot at all. Since he arrived in Trostich and did so much, he had already greatly influenced the original storyline, and his advantage of foresight was fading. But he wasn't afraid; he had already established a foothold in Trostich, and as long as he handled things properly, he dared to challenge Count von Polgau if he returned.

"What? How is that possible!"

Jessica couldn't believe it for a moment.

Peter continued to expose Istevan's true identity, his actions in Skaritz, and his relationship with King Gigi and Count von Polgár, concluding, "He even brought this authorization order himself from Prague."

"I actually...kept such a poisonous snake by my side..."

Jessica broke out in a cold sweat. Did that mean that all of their information had been leaked to the young master of Borgo by this venomous snake? Fortunately, Catherine had already gone to the castle to infiltrate beforehand and had not met Istvan, otherwise she would have been doomed.

"You're not foolish enough to tell him that you're under Sir Sokol's command and are a royalist, are you?"

"Not yet, not yet... We recruited bandits, and just as we formed our group, we encountered a war to wipe out you, so we simply renamed ourselves a mercenary team and joined Sir Nebakov's ranks."

Jessica was thankful that she still had a disguise, and even more thankful that Peter, the scapegoat, was there to shield them from the lord's thorough investigation.

In that sense, Peter could be considered his benefactor.

"You probably don't know that Istvan was instructed by those inside the castle to deliberately come to my camp to spy on me, do you?"

"I don't know."

"You probably don't know that I discovered Istvan's secret a long time ago and deliberately leaked false information to him, tricking him into sending armor and food, right?"

"I don't know."

"You probably don't know that once the transport team enters my camp, they'll be immediately captured, chained, or even beheaded, right?"

"I don't know."

"So, you're like a clown, completely unaware of what was going on, being manipulated by those people, and almost losing your life. If I hadn't discovered you were a royalist, your head would already be chopped off and stuck on a stake."

Peter concluded by giving a brief summary and even gave a little scare.

"I......."

Jessica was speechless. He was indeed very strategic, but without crucial information, he could only find himself on the defensive.

Peter patted him on the shoulder and comforted him, "Since we're both royalists, why can't we turn this pretense into a real alliance?"

"True allies? Yes, we can truly form an alliance."

Jessica was impressed by Peter's demeanor. He truly deserved to be called the Red Griffin, capable of standing up to the Borgo family. With such an ally, Jessica's chances of completing his plan were greatly increased.

Peter offered a rosy picture: "The Borgo family's forced conscription of civilians for the war may seem intimidating, but it's like a sandcastle that will crumble in a flood. I'm fully confident I can handle their attack. After the war, I can support you in occupying Nebakov Castle as a stronghold."

"That's great."

Jessica nodded quickly; he had coveted Nebakov Castle for a long time. But then he said, "What's next? Do we really need to join you and fight against the lord's army? They shouldn't be able to detect my change of heart."

"Leave the things behind, and you won't need to go into the mountains. It's not that I don't trust you, but I need you outside to keep Sir Semi and Sir Nebakov in check for me. I will then declare that your attitude is too poor to gain my trust, and that I only recognize Istvan, this respectable envoy."

"Huh? Why trust that viper?"

"Of course, we need him to send another batch of supplies."